


An Evening at the Grangers

by karasunova



Series: Adventures in House-Sitting [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Budding Love, Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, F/M, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Not Epilogue Compliant, low angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunova/pseuds/karasunova
Summary: Hermione is house-sitting for her parents and unconsciously invites George to come over as well.As it is with George or Hermione, sometimes spending an evening together can shift their perceptions quite unexpectedly (or does it?).
Relationships: Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Series: Adventures in House-Sitting [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547695
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	An Evening at the Grangers

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation from the one-shot, First Time House Sitters. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Hermione tried on the magic hat and looked at herself in the mirror, smiling rather sadly at the various disguises that took form. A full mustache switched to long blonde hair and then frizzy red hair. 

“Don’t see you come in here very often,” a soft voice sounded beside her. 

Hermione ripped the hat off her head. “Hey, George.”

His eyes searched hers. “What brings you by the shop?”

She set the hat back on the display case. “I’m just killing some time before I head over to my parent’s house. They’re heading out of town and I’m watching the house while they’re gone.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Another stint in house sitting?”

She chuckled. “That’s right. You should come over.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

She stumbled. “Yeah? If you’re free, you know. Or bored. It doesn’t matter.” She stepped back. “I should go. I’ll see you around, okay?”

She shuffled out of the shop and into the cool crisp night air. She couldn’t discern what George said as she stepped out into Diagon Alley. 

But she quickly looked for a safe place to disapparate. 

* * *

Hermione spread the snacks she bought out on the counter. Marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate. She even got some apples, determined to dip them in chocolate or caramel. 

A knock at the front door made her jump. She slowly strolled out of the kitchen and stepped into the foyer. She peered through the peephole, barely a moment later she wrenched the door open. “George?”

He waved nervously. “I,” he cleared his throat, “thought you could use some dashing company, you know, since you’re deprived of it most days, working with those boring lads at the ministry.” 

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. As he ambled past her, she got a hint of his cologne. Something fresh and clean and she had to stop herself from moaning aloud. 

George quirked an eyebrow. “You alright, Granger?”

She gulped. “Fine.” She just barely noticed the bag he was carrying. “You brought something?”

He held up the bag. “Uh, yeah. I brought some cookie dough and a pie. Is that okay?”

She nodded. “Yes, thanks.” 

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I brought it for us.” 

She gave him a shy smile and led the way to the kitchen. He placed the pie on the counter and put the cookie dough away in the fridge. 

Then he eyed the food on the counter. “Were you planning on having dinner at all?”

Hermione scoffed. “No.” 

George picked up the package of graham crackers. “Are you going to make some of those fire snacks? What are they called?”

“S’mores?” She took the package out of his hand and set it back down on the counter. “I was going to light a fire outside in the fire pit.” 

“Your parents have a fire pit?” He leaned over the center counter, resting on his arms. Hermione only nodded. He watched her sit down on the counter stool. Her long thick hair was down and tumbled down her back and over her shoulders. Her dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Granger.”

She grabbed a red apple and played with the stem. “I've been busy.”

“Oh?” George ran his fingers through his hair. “You haven’t come by the Burrow.”

She shrugged. “I haven’t had a reason to go.”

“You need a reason to visit?” His voice came out softer than he intended. 

Her eyes flashed toward his, wide and observing. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

His eyebrows rose. “Aren’t you supposed to watch the house?”

She hopped off the stool and walked toward the hall cupboard. “It’s fine,” she called out. She pulled on her coat. 

He hurried to the front door. “What’s with this?”

She led him out of the house, locking the door behind her. “I don't know. You’re confusing me.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Me confusing you?”

She buttoned up the two middle buttons on her coat. “Yes. Come on.” 

She led the way down the stone walkway and to the sidewalk. George settled beside her, walking on the side closest to the street. “I noticed there was a little festival going on down the street. Maybe we should check it out?”

“Sure.”

They were quiet as they walked down the street toward a small church. As they got closer, they could hear the sound of chatter, laughter, and children playing. 

The small field beside the church was turned into a festival ground. Orange and yellow streamers paired with orange lights brightened the field, guiding visitors toward the sweet smelling foods and activities. 

George grasped Hermione’s hand and led her to a stall selling hot chocolate. 

“George, do you have money?”

“Two, please,” he told the person working the stall, then fished out his wallet from his pocket. 

Hermione’s eyes widened. 

George handed over the money owed and grabbed their cups of hot chocolate, handing one over to Hermione. 

She wrapped her hands around the steaming cup and took a deep breath, taking in the delicious concoction. “Thank you.”

“This is brilliant.” George’s gaze roamed around the field, taking in the sights. “I’ve never gone to something like this.”

“There aren’t any festivals hosted in the wizarding world is there? I wonder why that is.” Hermione sipped her hot chocolate. 

“No idea. It’s easy enough to keep it hidden. I've noticed that despite our small population, we’re not a very close community.”

Hermione was surprised by his observation. She honestly couldn’t find anything to counter it. 

“Hermione Granger?” 

Hermione bumped into George, tripping over his feet. His hand gripped her elbow and helped her stay upright. 

She looked to the side and found a tall, dark-haired and warm brown-skinned young man looking at her quizzically. 

He hesitated beside the apple bobbing bin. “It’s been a few years. You probably don’t - “

“Tristan?” Her voice squeaked. She stepped out of George’s hold and hugged the young man nervously. “It’s so good to see you. What have you been up to? Your mother told me you went off to Oxford.”

Tristan grinned. “It’s good to see you too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I did. I’m done with school now. I’m a teacher now.”

She smiled brightly. “Of course you are. You were always such a good tutor.”

His cheeks seemed to darken. “Thanks. It’s good to see you out and about in the neighborhood. Are you back?”

She shook her head. “Just house-sitting for my parents.” 

Tristan looked between George and Hermione. “It’d be great to get together and catch up.” 

Hermione nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Uncle Tristan, let’s go!” A small boy tugged on his hand. 

Hermione and Tristan said goodbye. She returned to George’s side and noted his narrowed gaze. “George?”

He shook his head and chugged down the rest of his hot chocolate. He threw away his cup and turned to Hermione. “Let’s get our faces painted.”

“What?”

* * *

“You’re a cute cat, Hermione.” George sat down on a large cushion and watched Hermione prepare the logs currently nestled in the fire pit. He grabbed a marshmallow from the tray set in front of him and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t miss the pink dusting her cheeks. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled. She lit an old newspaper and poked the flames until the logs caught fire. She came around the fire pit and sat down in the cushion beside George. “You’re Frankenstein doesn’t look so bad either.”

He laughed. “Thanks. I don’t know who Frankenstein is.”

She giggled. She handed him a stick, taking up one for herself. She stabbed a marshmallow on the end. 

“So,” George prepared his marshmallow, “who was that bloke? From before?”

“I used to go to school with him. You know, before Hogwarts. I haven’t seen him since I was sixteen. He went to live with his father after his parents divorced.” 

“Oh.”

Hermione stoked the fire, once satisfied with the fire height and intensity, she held her marshmallow over the fire. 

“You two stayed in touch while you attended Hogwarts?”

“Not really. I only ever saw him over the summer. We grew apart, obviously, but I’m always going to have a soft spot for him.”

George’s marshmallow wavered over the fire. “Why?”

“He was the first boy I ever kissed,” she said nonchalantly. She pulled her stick back and rested it over her lap. She grabbed a graham cracker, a block of chocolate and set her warm marshmallow over the chocolate. She grabbed another cracker and squeezed her completed s’more together. 

George stared at her lips. “He’s the first boy you ever kissed?”

“Yeah. Who was your first kiss?” Her marshmallow escaped the confines of her s’more, the gooey inside caught her fingers. 

“Angelina,” George answered. 

She pulled her hand away and moved to lick her fingers. “Of course. I can see that.” 

George grabbed her hand and licked her pointer finger. “Can you? Why?”

Her breath hitched. “Well, you two were in the same year. Same house. Quidditch.” 

“I guess,” he gulped, his eyes switching between her lips, her fingers, and her eyes, “I didn’t kiss her until we were well out of Hogwarts.”

“Really?” She turned her head slightly to the side. 

He nodded. Her black cat paint over her forehead made it difficult to discern what her expressions were, but he could barely see a tinge of pink beneath her whiskers. “When did you have your first kiss?”

“I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” He slid to the edge of his cushion, his hand still held hers. He licked his lips and leaned forward. “Can I…”

Hermione dropped her s'more onto the tray and reached up to grip the side of his face, her fingers tracing his jawline. 

He closed the space between them, bumping his nose against hers as he kissed her. He used both hands to hold her waist. 

Their lips moved hesitantly at first. Hermione’s hand seemed to tremble and George moved to deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue along her bottom lip. 

Hermione moaned softly and then stiffened. She pushed him back. “Stop,” her voice sounded far away. “I want to stop.”

George breathed deeply. “Okay.” 

She shifted back onto her cushion and picked up her s'more again. 

George licked his lips and searched for his roasting stick. “My marshmallow is destroyed.”

Her light laughter relieved him. 


End file.
